with all my education, I can't seem to command it
by Dans-ma-propre-tete
Summary: Iris. Barry. A couple of love-bites between them.


Iris tugged at the hem of her dress as she juggled her keys and a bottle of wine. She couldn't get the key through the lock, so she resorted to relentless banging.

"Dad, come on it's dark and I can't see."

The door swung rapidly open, taking her keys with it and effectively dragging her through.

"Ooh!" she squealed, nearly tripping. She stumbled right into Barry. He was wearing a cobalt blue sweater, soft and even on his fit frame. He was warm and smelled amazing.

"Oops, sorry," he apologized.

"S'okay," she said.

"Your dad went out, I think we're having a Chinese."

"Mmm, good. I'm starving." She threw her jacket onto the couch. "How you been?" she asked, eyeing him appreciatively, just subtle enough to make him nervous.

She new what he had been up to.

The Flash and her.

_They had been furiously making out on the rooftop of picture news, which was a bold move, but Iris was full of them. Barry had had his greedy hand up Iris shirt, palming her breast through her lacy bra while he trailed kisses down her sternum to the other one. Iris maintained the friction she so desperately needed by pulling Barry- the Flash's- body into hers, nails at the small of his back._

_She was reveling in the novelty of sweet, precious Barry, her own Barry, hard as a rock and squeezing her breasts eagerly. She sighed contentedly and he stopped quite suddenly_.

"

_I have to go."_

"I don't _want you to-" she said, unthinking. A look of hurt flashed across Barry's face, even though it was covered. "Oh, I'm sorry, that's not what I_ mean_t!"_

He dre_w close to her again with a small smile_. Forgiven. "What did you mean?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow." She pecked him close to his mouth. "Go," she ordered with a small shove.

That was her secret. Her secret was his and hers and she had a sneaking suspicion that it was Joe's, too.

Barry responded with a nervous, "Same old."

She followed Barry into the kitchen and to the refrigerator. He ducked his head in. She sidled up next to him too close.

"You should ask me how work is going."

"What?" he asked, banging his head. "Ouch, what?" He handed her a beer, their fingers quickly grazing each others'.

"Ask me how work is going," she repeated.

"How's work?"

"It's gooood."

"You talked to your guy lately?"

"Who? The Flash? Um, no not so much."

"Any closer to finding out who he is?"

"I think so, but I cant pursue it any more. He works so hard to keep the Central City safe. I'd hate to get in the way of that. Or put his life in danger."

"I'm sure he appreciates that."

"Please, he's probably forgotten all about me."

"I doubt that."

"That's sweet, Barry."

They leaned back against the counter, nothing but the buzz of the refrigerator to fill the silence. Not quite tense, just a little uneasy.

"Oh my god-" Iris gasped, putting her beer down and stepping very flush into him, startling him. "Barry is that a- you've got them all over!"

"Iris, what the-?" she was yanking around in his collar, and he was inhaling her scent, light and clean was her perfume. Heady.

"You've got hickeys, dark, angry looking things, Jesus."

"No, I don't think that's what those are," he defended, slipping away from her.

"Just a rash?" she said, unconvinced.

"Sure."

"No, Barry." Her eyes crinkled, he was blushing adorably. And she wondered if she was too. Cheeks hot with the memory just like Barry. "Those are little love bites, aww."

"Iris, it's not-"

"Not what, Barry? Tell me what they are, if not hickies."

Iris breathed on Barry's long, smooth neck, and his pulse jumped in an easy tell. Her nimble fingers undid the first buttons on his shirt, the marks were plentiful. She gave herself a small pat on the back, "Whoa, Barry, she really turned you out, didn't she? Who's the girl?"

"Girl?"

"The carnivore who gave you those."

"She's nobody."

"Well, 'nobody' should be thanking her lucky stars that I'm not the jealous type. Or we might get to fighting." She chuckled softly against his neck at her own perfect irony.

"Why do you care?"

"What you mean?"

"Why do you care? Haven't you, what, plowed your way through 10 guys since you and Eddie called it quits?"

"Excuse me?" she gasped, recoiling.

"Dammit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."

"Yeah. That one stung a little," she said, pride wounded. The game wasn't fun at times like these. When the secret felt like it was only hers, and it was bearing down on her chest. She wanted him to know. She wanted him.

He smelled so good. It was chemical, what was pulling her in. She put her tongue to a marking on his neck. She kissed the rest softly. Her hands came around his neck. Then, she pulled him down to kiss her passionately, and she was met with not a moment of of resistance.

"Iris, what are you doing?" Barry asked thickly, leaning into Iris' kisses.

"I'm trying tell you something, to jog your memory."

"What?"

And that very perfect, poetic moment, Joe walked in, armed with fried rice.

They broke apart, and Barry attempted to search Iris' eyes, but they wouldn't meet his once her dad stepped into the room.

"What's up with you two?"

"We're starving," they confessed in unison, rushing to the table like teenagers


End file.
